It's NaBloPoMo again...I said I'd do a photo a day, at least, right? Yeah.
Not inspired today. Too much going on - this election can be over any time, please...and I do hope that there is a definitive answer early Wednesday. It's been such a long, long road - so crazy, all of it, and I know so many of us are tired.
So, for something COMPLETELY different and unrelated, I took a photo of my tattoo awhile back for a piece I was writing about body art. It's harder than it may seem to take a picture of something on your back...because heaven knows I couldn't decide to do it when anyone was around to help me. And my arms aren't very long. Just sayin'.
I don't believe in astrology as in "my horoscope will come true" or "I can't date an Aries" (although the two I DID date, who were born on the EXACT SAME DAY? Fail.) Still, I've always enjoyed Capricorn symbols and the fact that I get the only planet with RINGS? Score. When I went to get the tattoo - at 25, in Ohio - I decided on it because it was something about me that I knew would never change and that seemed to trump the myriad Tinkerbells and Tasmanian Devils that so many of my peers seemed to think deserved permanence at the time.
I still like it. Yes it hurt. Yes I plan on getting another one. No, I'm not sorry I ever did it. Yes, my boyfriends dug it. Yes, I wish Jimbo'd measured the rings a little more carefully. But it's me, it's imperfect, it's Juicy Fruit colors instead of the "iridescent" that I described to him ("Huh?" he said, and, as my grandma repeated constantly, I offered it up, cause I was on my stomach on a table and he had a needle and a bunch of ink and an impressive can-do sort of attitude.)
I'll never not have a tattoo and inasmuch as it reflects who I was and what I wanted and what I thought I knew at the time, that's still okay with me.